Liebestraum
by Contra Mundi
Summary: Murders are popping up like moles in London. One means, London is facing a lot of murders, not that there are as many murders in London as there are moles. Tarot cards are left at each scene of the crime. Could this be somehow connected with Delilah?
1. Kapitel Ein

**A/N: This is a rewritten version of the original chapter. I reread the chapter and I realised that I hated it, so here goes. Oh, and I'm sorry if the layout is a little sloppy. Somewhere along the lines, something went wrong. Get it? Somewhere along the _lines_? ...Oh, fine..._I_ thought it was funny.**

_Disclaimer: One does not own the characters. Or at least, not most of them. If one were able to draw like Kaori Yuki, one would have been long deceased of happiness._

* * *

-:-:-:_In which:_:-:-:-

A murder is committed and a woman takes a card.

We are introduced to the characters.

The weather is cold and leads to Other Things.

A girl gives information.

A person is bought.

* * *

_A scream broke the silence of the night. A figure ran down along the dark alley, dropping a small card along the way. Whether that had been intended or not was unknown._

_As the figure ran, it's hands fumbled hastily with something. It was long, and the sharp edges of it glinted in the moonlight, except for a few sections where the light could not get to. These sections were the ones that were covered in blood._

_As the footsteps died away, so did the shadows. Now, without the shape to block the light of the wonderful half moon, it's light flowed down, illuminating instead, the face of the dead man, slumped in a corner.

* * *

_

It was late at night. Miryam Bashevis walked steadily through the crowds. To the rest of the world, it was Helena Harper who walked. It was Helena Harper who breathed. It was Helena Harper who held her umbrella like she was going to use it to whack someone at any moment. It was Helena Harper who got hopelessly lost in the streets.

She swore under her breath. It would take ages to get back at this rate. Not to mention the fact that her shoes were killing her. She could have sworn that they had some sort of personal grudge against her.

She shivered. Her thin dress wasn't warm enough, considering the weather she had to endure. It was very low cut, exposing her neck and only just covering enough of her. There was a black lace corset around the waist, with golden lining. It would have been a striking dress, if it wasn't for the fact that the back of the corset was so sloppily tied. Oh, well. At least she could breathe properly.

The coins in her purse jangled. The purse had once been a dark pink, almost purple. But now, the color was indistinguishable under the layers of filth. It hadn't been washed in months, maybe even years. She had counted the day's payment before, over and over, to make sure she got it right. It came up to a pitiful amount of £5. That was barely enough to pay for her lodgings.

She sighed heavily. She leaned against one of the nearby walls and took of her shoe, rubbing the sole of her foot. There was a faint singing from up ahead, but she didn't notice it. Her feet were more important.

A man walked up the alleyway, a bottle in his hands. He was wearing a dark red coat and a black cape that contrasted perfectly with the coat. He had a three cornered hat with fake black locks on his head. In his pocket, almost falling out of it, was a mask. It might have been white, but then again, it might have been blue. He didn't walk. He stumbled. He didn't sing. He howled.

He didn't jump, he hopped. Miryam screamed as she felt something touch her on the waist. She whirled around and slapped the man soundly across the face. She stared in horror at what she had done. She looked at her hand, then back at the man, who was tottering. It was a reflex sort of thing.

She picked up her shoes and ran. The man made a grab at her feet, then straightened as best as he could and teetered after her. She thanked whatever gods were up there that she had managed to get her shoes off before. But then again, these were going to make for some serious calluses.

She whacked herself mentally. Now wasn't exactly the best time to be thinking about her feet. She made a sharp turn into and alley and stayed there, catching her breath. She listened for footsteps but the ones that sounded had faded into the distance. The man had probably given up a long time ago. Somehow, Miryam felt slightly disgruntled by that. It was extremely unflattering, especially when ego feeding was needed.

She patted the side of her head to make sure her hair was in place, turning around to observe her surroundings. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight she saw. It was a dead end. Literally.

Against the cold brick wall was a corpse, slumped against it. The walls were covered in blood. It was either the work of a mad man or a mad dog. It would have been more comforting to know if it were a mad dog. Miryam gingerly put her umbrella under his chin and tipped it up. Unseeing eyes stared back up at her. She lowered her umbrella and took a deep breath.

Counting slowly to ten, she walked back towards the way she had come from. Her face was pale, slightly green, even. She looked traumatized and she believed she had a right to be. Her foot nudged something thick on the ground. She jumped and gave a little shriek, thinking that maybe it would be a part of the man's insides that had been thrown aside. Though it was beside her better judgment, she looked down.

Under her foot was a thick piece of card. She breathed a sigh of relief and picked it up. The only part of the man on it was a bit of his blood along one of the edges. On it was depicted a picture of a tower being struck by lightning. There were people falling out of it, heads towards the ground. She flinched at the thought of the end they were going to be meeting, but somehow found it rather amusing. It was the way they were drawn. She stuffed it into her pockets. She didn't care much for tarot cards herself, but maybe there might be others at work that might find it amusing as well.

* * *

Riffuel Raffit was tall. Riffuel Raffit had light colored hair. Riffuel Raffit had eyes as light his hair, contrasted with clothes as dark as a burnt tree. Riffuel Raffit had a sweet disposition and a calm temperament. Riffuel Raffit knew that anyone who wanted to work for Cain and live had to have that. 

Riffuel Raffit was silent. Riffuel Raffit could go into a room, get behind you and yell BOO! but he didn't want to because he didn't want to lose his job. Riffuel Raffit knew his last name was funny and sounded like 'rabbit'. Riffuel Raffit preferred to be known as Riff.

With the same silence as has just been described, he walked into the room that was Cain's study. He glanced at the dark haired young man. He was sitting in a big, comfortable, _expensive_ chair. That swirled. Chairs that swirled were perfect when it came to intimidating people. It worked particularly well if it was dark.

Riff out the tray down onto the table. It made a soft _plink!_-ing sound as it made contact with the hard wood. The butler ignored it and proceeded to pour tea into a teacup with a delicate floral pattern.

"You know," Cain said after a while, not looking at Riff, "if you look at that picture of Merry for too long, it looks like the teddy bear has something stuck up it's nose." He indicated the picture.

"Yes, sir," Riff said, not wanting to argue with him. What he really wanted to ask was why Cain was staring at the pictures, but he felt that there was no polite way to get about it, so he just went with the time-old classic "yes, sir" routine.

He handed Cain the newspaper that had arrived that morning and stood by him. There weren't many butlers who were allowed to stay. Most of them were hounded out of the room until they were called back in to take a message or something of the like. Cain, however, appreciated the company.

The newspapers rustled as the young count unfolded the paper. He sipped his tea daintily as he studied the headlines. Devastating crash for A. Greenegg S. (which stood for solicitor) & E. Hamilton stocks, Hunting's only landmark goes up in flames: A landmark lost etc. Underneath that was an advertisement that read **Hurry to Francis Mash's Sunnyside Circus! Tickets available now! See the Flying Man, the Lion Tamer, the Monkey Trainer AND MUCH MORE!**

Cain raised an eyebrow at the advertisement and resolved not to let Merryweather catch sight of it. What kind of insane man named a circus Sunnyside Circus, anyway? And of _course_ there were the original names. Just think! A Flying Man! How mysterious! He 'hmmph'-ed to himself and turned the page.

An article caught his eye. Or rather, it grabbed his eye. It was all over the page. One couldn't help but notice it. Cain read the headlines silently, interest in his eyes.

"There's been a murder," he said after a while.

Riff looked up from his (not very interesting) job of wiping the table so as not to leave stains. "Is that so, sir?" he replied. He had just the faintest feeling of dread in his stomach. He was sure Cain wouldn't – maybe even couldn't – leave the subject until he got all the information he wanted.

"The newspapers say that the murdered man was a Mr. Henry Grey," Cain continued, ignoring Riff. He snorted. "That name has no personality whatsoever."

Riff sighed inaudibly. He wanted to tell Cain that not every one had a father who named his child after the first human being in the Bible to kill a man. He wanted to say that at least Henry Grey had a last name like he did, rather than a name like Raffit. Instead, he said, "Yes, sir."

Cain gave the newspapers a shake and looked up irritably at Riff. "Is that all you have to say this morning?" he snapped. "If you don't have anything interesting to say, then don't speak." He looked back down at the newspapers, feeling slightly ashamed of himself for being sharp with no reason. "It says here that a young woman was seen stepping out of the alley where the man was killed at about a quarter past twelve in the morning."

"Would that make her the prime suspect, then, sir?" Riff asked cautiously.

"How should I know?" Cain asked, shrugging. "It doesn't concern me."

Riff opened his mouth, then closed it, deciding that "Yes, sir." was not the best choice of words.

* * *

Cain walked through the cold, wet streets of London. A carriage screeched to a stop as the young man crossed the road without even looking. The passenger poked his head out of the window and swore at him. Cain ignored the man. His personal motto for the streets was, "I don't stop to watch the traffic. _They _stop for _me_." When he had said this to Riff, the butler had sighed and looked altogether rather weary. 

Cain shivered under his thin coat and wished he had listened to Riff and wore a thicker one. He hurriedly stepped through the first door on his left. He felt grateful for the warmth inside the building.

"Why, hello," a voice crooned from behind him. Cain felt shivers run up his spine at the sound. It was a sort of masculine, yet feminine voice. All in all, it sounded like a man trying to sound like a woman. He felt that maybe he had stepped through the wrong door.

He turned around and stared at the chest of a tall, big woman. Her brown-red hair was piled high on her head and her chin connected smoothly with a strong jaw. She was quite pretty, but all in all, much too intimidating for Cain's liking. Anyone would have felt intimidated if they had seen a woman of her stature.

The woman's face was practically white with make-up. But underneath all the cosmetics, there was a mild-mannered, cheerful face. In her delicately painted hands, she held a long pipe between two fingers. "I'm Ember," she said, flashing him a wide smile. "Welcome to the Troubadour's Head. Feel free to look around."

She winked at him conspiratorially. "Mind you, though, some of the girls are a little tetchy tonight, so's I'd watch it if I were you," she continued. She grinned, then walked off, blowing out a fine breeze of smoke. Cain sighed slightly at her departure. He stood awkwardly in the middle of the room before taking a seat at a free table.

He observed his surroundings. There was a lot of laughter and giggling, as well as smoke. Through the smoke, he could see numerous men and women. Some men were young, and some men were old. A majority of them had their hands around the girls, or rather, around a place that was below the waist and not quite decent.

Two girls walked past his table. One wore a brilliant dress of red and gold. The corset around her waist was a dark copper and had black lining which complimented it very well. The other was dressed in black and white. The piece of clothing around her waist very nearly sank into the background of her dress, but it was made discernable by a faint outline and white laces. Cain noticed, however, that the back of their dresses were not done up properly. _Probably so their customers don't have a hard time undressing them,_ Cain thought sourly, glaring around him. The girls threw a glance at him. One whispered something to the other. They both giggled, then scuttled off.

At the table beside him, two girls were talking to each other. One, a girl with black hair, was speaking in the hushed, urgent tone of someone who really needed to get something out of their system. She had a strong face. That was the only way you could have described it. She wasn't pretty and she wasn't attractive. She was just the sort of girl you would see in the street, salute for being a woman, then pass along on the other side of the street. She was really rather intimidating.

She slid something across the table. It was long and thin, Cain noted, but that was about all he had been able to see. The other girl, an attractive red-head who, unfortunately, didn't look too bright, took a long look at it. Her face paled considerably and she threw back her head, letting out a shriek that would have made a banshee stare, cover it's ears and run (or float. It depended on whether the banshee preferred walking or floating).

The black haired girl shushed her. There was an uneasy silence. The girl rolled her eyes at the world. She grabbed the hand of the red-headed girl and forcefully dragged her out of the room. Activity hesitantly reared its head, looked around to make sure they were both gone, then resumed, though on a less cheerful note. Some of the gentlemen apologised to their pouting women and left.

Cain stood up from his seat and followed the two females into the hallway. He looked both ways, but saw only the red-head, leaning against the wall. Her shoulders were heaving and she was making funny little noises that would have made any normal person sound like an idiot, but made her sound extremely pitiful. He walked up to her and tapped her lightly on the shoulder. She turned to face him, looking surprised. There were clear tears in her eyes.

"Madam," Cain crooned, putting on the I'mahaughtynoblewhoisverykindandnextremelyhandsome act. "May I know what has distressed you?"

His voice was soft and cooing, making him, personally, sound like a pigeon with constipation. His tone of voice completely contradicted his feelings, but it paid off. The girl blushed furiously and her tears ceased, lost in the wonder of having this Tall, Dark and Handsome Stranger talking to her.

"It's Mary," she murmured, clearly charmed. "Marianna Susan Cleopatra Athena Potts. But you can just call me Mary. Everyone else does."

"A fine name," Cain said, feeling slightly irritable. She had completely ignored his question. "Miss Potts, a woman like you shouldn't be standing alone here, crying her pretty eyes out. Come now. What is troubling you?"

"It's nothing," Marianna Susan croaked, her face suddenly turning pale, which made her look like a snow queen with red-hair.

Cain groaned and slapped his forehead mentally. "There's not way such a lovely lady like you, looking the way you are, cannot be distressed. You uttered such a scream…I was really quite worried for your safety."

Marianna Susan's cheeks turned red, contrasting with the pale skin of her face. Her cheeks looked like twin blossoms against a canvas of snow. Cain leaned in towards her until his face was only a few inches away from hers. "You can tell me," he said softly, smiling at her.

Marianna Susan's heart fluttered inside of her. Her mouth nervously began to smile. "Well," she said, just as softly, as though they were two lovers whispering sweet nothings to each other, "I was talking to Helena…"

* * *

There was a light tap at the door. "Helena?" Ember asked from the outside. 

Miryam stood up and unlocked the door. "Yes?" she asked. She noted the dark-haired gentleman at her side. "How may I help you?"

Ember gestured at the man and gave her a smile. "You have a customer," she said brightly. It had been a while since Miryam had had a customer. Ember said it was because all the men were afraid of intelligent women. Marianna Susan put it down to the plain fact that Miryam was scary.

"But don't we usually meet in the main room?" Miryam asked, her voice rising in protest.

Ember looked at her sharply. It was both meaningful and sympathetic at the same time. "He insisted," she said firmly. "And what can we do if a customer insists?" she added, sighing.

Miryam scowled. _Meaning_, she thought, _that he had paid more than usual._ Gods, she hated rich people. "Come in, please, sir," she said sullenly, trying to smile but failing miserably.

"My, my," the man said, raising an eyebrow. "Wonderful personality, this one."

Ember smiled and nodded. Cain returned the gesture. Miryam stepped aside and let him into her room. Ember stood outside the door for a moment, doubtful for the young man's safety, then decided it was none f other business and left.

Cain stood in the middle of the room and looked around. It was really quite a plain room. There was a bed in one corner and awful floral curtains along the windows. On the far right side of the room, there was a crudely made table and worse chairs. There was a cupboard in another corner. It looked like it had gone through hard times, the poor thing. There were a few pictures on top of it, and a few along the wall. They all looked out of place. They either looked like they should have been put in a noblewoman's parlor, or like they should have all been burned the moment they had been finished.

"Well?" Miryam demanded, crossing her arms and tapping her foot on the floor.

Cain's train of thought had been broken by her sharp voice and he glanced coldly at her. "Madam," he said, bowing ever so slightly, "I do not intend to hurry myself. I believe in value for money."

Miryam's face reddened and she winced, dismissing the filthy image that had formed in her mind. Her black curls bounced slightly as she attempted to dislodge them from her head, as they seemed to have gotten stuck somewhere between her ears.

Cain took a seat and leaned his elbows on the surface of the table, surveying her. Miryam had the distinct feeling that he was deciding how she should be cooked before being eaten. Braised, boiled, fried… It was not a nice thing to imagine. "Now that I have your attention," Cain said, steepling his fingers. "I am Count Cain Hargreaves, a little extra information for you to know, because I do not like being referred to as 'that man' or otherwise. I have some questions for you."

"We charge two pounds for just plain flirting, three pounds for—" Miryam began reciting. Cain stopped her.

"I didn't mean that sort of question, Madam," he said irritably. "First off, what is your name?"

"It's Helena," Miryam replied cautiously, giving him a suspicious look. "Helena Harper. Why?"

"That," Cain said, "is clearly none of your business. Second question: What is your favorite color?"

"What does that have to do with anything??"

Cain ignored her. "What I want to ask is none of your business," he sniffed. "And besides, it was just out of personal interest. And now, what is the air speed velocity of a swallow?"

Miryam stared hard and long at him. She decided he was either going to get to the point soon, or he was thoroughly insane. Either way worked with her.

When Cain got no answer, he continued. "Now I understand that you have something that is connected to the murder that has been reported in this morning's newspapers."

"I don't," she said defiantly. "And even if I did, that clearly is none of your business."

Cain raised an eyebrow and glared coldly at her. "_Touché_, Madam," he said dryly. "Come now, your friend Marianna Susan Cleopatra Athena Potts has already told me all about it. A very nice girl, she is. You should try to be more like her. You would never run out of customers then, I assure you."

"She didn't!" Miryam said accusingly.

"She did," Cain said smoothly, with all the calmness of a person who is not exactly sure, but hopes he will be able to accomplish something by lying.

Miryam stared at him for a long moment, looking wretched. She knew the game was up. She wished now she hadn't told Marianna Susan about it. That girl gossiped like a magpie. The only point was that no one could begrudge her for it, partly because she was so charming and sweet. Sulkily, she took the bloodstained card out of her pocket and slid it across the table.

Cain looked down at it. "Is _this_ what she screamed at?" he muttered. "Good gods."

"What is this to you?" Miryam demanded.

Cain looked up at her, his face blank. He didn't like it when people demanded him to do things. If someone had told him to walk on the right side of the road, he would have nodded, then proceeded to walk onto the left side, just because they had told him to go to the right. "Nothing," he answered simply. "Did you see who did it?"

"No."

"You're sure?"

"Yes."

"Definitely?"

"Oh, for God's sake!"

* * *

Ember raised an eyebrow. "What?" she asked, uncomprehending. 

Cain sighed wearily. It was embarrassing enough as it was, having to tell her this. Making him tell her at least three times was Cruel and Unusual Punishment. "I enjoyed Miss Harper's hospitality very much," he repeated. "And I would like to have her live in my home. I'm sure she would make a fine friend to Merryweather." _If I wanted Merry to end up with the wrath of Hell, the why not?_ he thought dryly.

Miryam stood stonily behind him. Her face was contracted into a deep scowl. At the door was Marianna Susan, unseen by the dark-haired girl. That was probably for the better. Miryam would have yelled at her, Marianna Susan would start crying and Ember would get mad. Nope. It wasn't too good an idea to show herself. She didn't like getting yelled at.

There had been many a time where Miryam wanted to slap the girl, and this was one of those occasions. Yet, she had never found the heart to hit her. You just couldn't help but feel guilty for marring that perfectly shaped, perfectly colored face. She settled for yelling very loudly instead, which was just as bad since it made the poor girl cry her crystalline tears.

Ember put the pipe to her lips and took a thoughtful drag. "I'm sorry," she said. "I don't think that's possible, sir. You see, even though this line of work is not one I would recommend to young ladies, I simply cannot allow you to take Helena. Not because she is an asset to our… store, but because it would be completely irresponsible."

Cain looked at her admiringly. He might have applauded her, but felt it would have been undignified to do so.

"I'm sorry," Ember repeated. She shook her head to emphasise her point. "I simply cannot agree. It would be a breach of our trust."

She stood up, indicating that her mind was made up and the meeting was over. As she got up from her chair, she accidentally bumped her hip into the table, which bumped into the wall, which made it tremble, which caused flakes of whitewash to fall from the ceiling. Ember blushed slightly.

Cain saw the opportunity and dived for it like a meerkat towards its hole in times of danger. "I see," he said, sounding somewhat remorseful. "I was willing to pay a considerable amount for her. Please reconsider. It will be enough to fix up this place and have you and your girls living in comfort."

Ember weakened at the offer. She took Miryam aside to consult her. "Well, dear?" she asked. :What would you like to do? Would you like to stay here?"

Miryam didn't really like the patronizing tone to her sentences, but she had never managed to dislike Ember. Much as she liked her, thought, she didn't want to stay. People stabbed each other in the back here. She paused here to think a bitter thought about a certain someone called Marianna Susan. "No," she said. "I'm sorry. But, no. I wouldn't like to stay here."

Ember smiled, a little ruefully. She really was a nice character, this Helena. But she was an extra mouth to feed and there weren't many men asking for her. "Ah, well," she sighed. "Such is love."

Miryam's face reddened with indignation. "I'm not in love with him," she said, her scowl back in place.

Ember just grinned. "Have a nice time, dear," she tra-la-la-ed. Miryam glared at her, but dared not say anything in case the innuendo she had in her mind hadn't been intended.

As Miryam walked out the door and towards her room to pack her things, she noticed a teary-eyed Marianna Susan, slumped against the wall in a way most girls like her did when they cried. She stared at her and raised an eyebrow.

"Helena" Marianna Susan bleated, sounding like a pitiful lost lamb in the garden and looking just as sweet. "I-I'm so sorry!" She flung her snow white arms around Miryam's neck and hugged her hard, making her funny little noises again. "I'll miss you soooooooooooooooo much!!" she cried, barely coherent.

In the room, Cain looked at Ember. "Do you get many people asking for that girl?" he asked, indicating Marianna Susan.

Ember shrugged. "It depends whether they prefer them to have brains or lily-white arms and necks," she said simply.


	2. Kapitel Zwei

:::_In which_:::

The master of the house comes home and gets in trouble.

Concerns and suspicions are voiced.

Miryam meets a maid.

Cain wakes up in a suitably bad mood and is morbidly brightened by the day's newspaper.

Miryam finds herself lost.

Riff gets hurt but finds the woman in question.

Miryam is revealed.

A decision is decided upon.

The heavy door creaked open, sounding rather like an elephant that was trying to stop itself from sneezing in case it woke up the residents of the house. Riff turned slightly, fixing his eyes on the clock. He noted that it was very late at night and that, in his household, could only mean that his master had returned from the night's excursions.

"Welcome home, Master Ca--" Riff began before noticing the woman at his side. He stopped short and raised an eyebrow, looking from Cain to the dark-haired woman at his side. He wondered, quite vaguely if, and not without a hint of what he had decided to call protectiveness, maybe she was his lover for the month.

Cain handed his coat to the butler, shrugging his stiff shoulders. "I'm home," he said unnecessarily. Riff silently took the coat and hung it up in its proper place. He had a deep urge to ask his master who the girl was, but decided that it wasn't his place to say. He believed that if Cain wanted to tell him, then he would.

Cain studied Riff's face with something that was like interest, curiosity and doubt at the same time. "Helena Harper," he said shortly, indicating the girl. "She'll be staying with us for the time being." He offered no other explanation, though he continued to watch Riff warily out of the corner of his eye. Riff felt that it was either because he had wanted to discuss something beyond her hearing or Cain was (Riff grimaced at the thought), actually in love. That might not have been the best of theories, but Riff had to admit to himself that it was wholly possible, especially after the incident, which Cain never quite forgot, of Meridianna.

Riff sighed softly to himself and shrugged his shoulders. He smiled at Miryam. "Welcome, Miss Harper," he greeted. "My name is Riffuel. Riffuel Raffit. Should you need me, I would be more than happy to assist or, if the situation isn't of my specialty, get someone who can help you."

Miryam, who had been sulking ever since they had left the run-down building, looked up at the man with a scowl. She was completely awed at how tall he was and, not to mention, rather cowed by his height. The scowl disappeared almost immediately and was replaced with the expression of a young schoolboy who had been rather violently reprimanded by his schoolmaster.

People tended to have different reactions to the young butler. Some women blushed at his stoic exterior while some were merely intimidated. Men wondered about his coolness and had, on more than one occasion, offered him drinks to see if he was capable of any form of expression or, if failing that, to see if he would at least do something amusing like dance. He had refused all the offers as politely as he could. Children, especially the more straightforward ones, had no qualms about staring up at him with their eyes as big as saucers. The bolder children tended to shout out something along the lines of: "YOU'RE HU-U-U-U-GE!!" in an awed, but not unadmiring, way. Some of them continued to stare on, but most tended to run away in case Riff's range of view didn't go below his waist. The shier children merely hid behind tables and chairs.

Miryam had nothing against staring. Her eyes were wide and her mouth was slowly forming the shape of an "o". A sudden thundering noise from behind the tall man smacked Miryam out of her dazed state. She stepped to the side to see who it was that was making such a din and was surprised to see a small blonder girl making her way downstairs with all the grace of an elephant. She watched with some amusement as the girl stomped steadily towards the dark-haired boy, who looked like he was trying to edge away very slowly.

"Where have you been?" the girl yelled in a voice that should have been more suited for a person two heads taller than herself. The hands on her hips were trembling slightly with rage and it put to Miryam's mind an image of a severe priest who had just caught one of the choir members making funny faces at his back.

Merryweather Hargreaves whipped around and turned her glare to Miryam instead. Miryam jumped slightly and Riff bit his lip hard so as not to laugh when she uttered a soft "Eep!"

Merryweather regarded Miryam with disdain. Her clothes were well made, but had since been worn down. There was a hole in the sleeve of her dress that had once been quite small but had steadily grown bigger since she had kept forgetting to fix it up. It had to be, by now, the size of Miryam's thumb at least. Merryweather felt just the slightest bit of remorse for her as she herself had been living on the streets for a majority of her life as a fortune-teller. She might have started liking her, just a little...

"Your child?" Miryam asked Cain over Merryweather's head, arching an eyebrow.

The blonde girl decided that maybe they wouldn't get along so well after all.

Merryweather crossed her arms over her chest and looked sideways at the woman. "No," she said rudely. "I am his sister." She turned back to her brother, fixing a poisonous look on him. "Your new girlfriend?" she asked dryly, with just the slightest hint of sarcasm.

Miryam's mouth opened and closed, making her look not a little like a fish that had stupidly jumped out of its bowl and onto the cold countertop. "No," she snapped indignantly. "I'm a poor defenceless woman he bullied into coming with him. Does he always do this or am I an exception?"

Merryweather had not once turned to her, but her expression darkened at Miryam's words. Ignoring the woman's questions, she continued to stare at her brother. "Explanation," Merryweather demanded icily. "Now."

Cain felt that maybe he had stepped into the Inquisition and wondered when they would be bringing the iron tongs out.

He sighed wearily. All he had wanted was to come home, direct the girl to her room, ooze to his bed, go to sleep and question her tomorrow. Why had he thought that it would be that easy? _Naiveté,_ he told himself darkly. "This is the woman that they had mentioned in the newspapers," Cain said, looking not at Merryweather, but at Riff. Miryam's stomach seemed to plunge to the very depths. _Newspaper?_ "We need her as of now to clarify a few things," Cain continued, oblivious. "Show her to a room, would you, Riff?" He turned to Merryweather. "And as for you, sister dear, I think you should have been asleep hours ago." He eyed her coldly, but with amusement. Merryweather scowled and made a face at him, then ran up the stairs. A few moments later, a door slammed.

_Why am _I _in the newspapers?_ Miryam thought to herself as Riff lead her away. She hadn't done anything other than _be _there. What if the police were after her? What if they decided that she was the one who had murdered that man and hanged her? Even if she had been found not guilty of the crimes, her reputation would still have been horribly tarnished. She would never be able to work in London again...

She shook her head vigorously and tried not to think about it. "Where am I going?" she asked Riff. "The servants quarters?"

It was a perfectly innocent question, yet it made Riff stop in his tracks and caused Cain to stare at her in shock. "Heavens, no," Cain said, looking thoroughly offended. "What you must think of me, I shouldn't like to think. I'm not so impolite as to treat a guest that way."

Miryam thought about this. "_Am _I a guest?" she asked. She put a hand to her mouth. "Goodness me, I hadn't thought of it that way. I had the feeling that you were bringing me home to use in an upcoming dinner!"

Cain looked as though he was trying to roll his eyes, sigh and stare all at the same time. "Your attitude leaves much to be desired, Madam," he said dryly. He made his way to the stairs, then turned back to face her when he reached the banister. "And besides, the only people I would invite to devour your meat would have to be someone I particularly wanted dead."

Having said that, he turned back and shimmered off towards his room. Miryam made a face at his back.

Riff ran a last check on all the doors and windows in the house. Being that it was a larger-than-usual living space (what he wanted to say was that it was gigantic, but that somehow didn't seem like the right word), it took him a while before he actually heard the slight, but rather sharp sound of someone pacing the room on the upper floor.

Riff, already guessing what it was, made his way to the kitchen to make a pot of tea. He was so used to having done this that he could have done it blindfolded if he ever needed to. He arranged all the utensils on a tray and carefully set them on the dumbwaiter that was located in a rather inefficient place in the kitchen.

Riff had always thought that dumbwaiters were unnaturally tiresome to use, particularly at that time of night where everyone else was asleep. He might have carried the tray up himself but for the fact that there had recently been a rumour around the house that there were rats and he was afraid he might trip on one. Tea stains were horribly hard to get out of the carpet and he always felt more than a little sorry for the maid who had to clean it up.

Having received his tray, he gingerly knocked on the door of Cain's room. "Took your time," Cain commented snappishly as he entered. His brow was furrowed slightly with a light frown and his arms were crossed across a brilliant blue and silver robe that looked more like a dressing gown than anything else.

"I'm sorry, sir," Riff apologised as Cain went back to his activity of pacing the room. With great skill, he poured the tea into an elaborately decorated (and rather hard to hold) cup and handed it to his master. Cain took a small sip and looked a little less irked.

"I really don't understand what you were thinking, sir," Riff said carefully as he removed the things from Cain's reach in case he decided to throw something at the wall.

"Don't understand about what?" Cain replied airily, looking pointedly at him. Riff squirmed a little.

"About Miss Harper. Surely she has a home of her own? And a family? I am sure they must be very worried for her," he continued.

"Ha," Cain said un-humorously. "Somehow, I knew this was going to come up." He sidled to the butler's side and almost grinned at him as he put the cup down on the small table. "The problem with you, Riff, is that you happen to care too much.

"But, no," Cain continued, flouncing away from his servant's right side. "Miss Harper happened to be living in a brothel and I highly doubt the people there would have missed her very much. Other than a select few," he added as an afterthought, thinking of Marianna Susan. He didn't fail to shudder just a little at the thought. "She wasn't bringing in much money, anyway, and with an attitude like that, I'm somehow not surprised at all."

"But why is all this so important to you?" Riff asked anxiously. "A few days ago, you were positively bored with life and now you're looking out for any hint of this murder case that you can possibly find, sir. It wasn't even as though the young man who was killed had any relation to you."

Cain raised an eyebrow cynically at this. Riff, feeling a little wretched, thought that maybe he had spoken too brashly. He was about to apologise when Cain cut across his words. "You know me, Riff," he said softly, almost a whisper. "I can't keep my nose out of other people's business."

He sighed and looked a little resigned. "But you're right, as always," Cain continued. "I haven't been fair to you, or to Merry. That woman wouldn't have been anything if it weren't for this--" He took the bloodstained card out of his pocket and handed it to his butler. "This was apparently found at the scene of the murder. By Miss Harper."

There was a long moment of silence as Riff studied the card, trying his best not to touch the blood along the edges of the card. There was a bright tower of gold against a cloudy, grey-blue sky. A bolt of lightning crashed against the roof of the tower, sending two people flying out of it. Riff found it rather ironic that one of the spots of blood should happen to fall on one of the men's head. "And you suspect Delilah?" Riff guessed, putting the card down with caution.

Cain rested his chin on his palm. "Who else am I supposed to suspect?" he asked snippishly. "Oscar?" He gave this some thought. "Though now that I think of it, I think that having that degenerate put in jail would be a _very_ useful thing…"

Riff shook his head and sighed at Cain's apparent distaste for the young Oscar Gabriel who had recently taken to showing up at the house at inappropriate times (or so deemed by Cain) and attempting to "win the cold heart of Merry", or so he said. Cain suppressed a smile at this and couldn't help but put his arms around his friend and servant.

"I'm surprised you can stand my ramblings, sometimes," Cain murmured into Riff's shirt, his hands gripping lightly at the cloth. Riff smiled and patted the back of Cain's head affectionately, though he didn't dare to return the embrace. Even though he was more or less used to his master's constant changes of mood now, he had never really knew how to deal with them. He had discovered the best way was to just be quiet.

Cain removed himself and stretched. "Wake me up at the usual time tomorrow," he ordered, as though the small moment of sentimentality had never happened. He fixed Riff with a meaningful look, knowing full well of the butler's tendency of either "forgetting" or "deciding to let him sleep a little while more". He snorted disgustedly. "There's no way I'll be able to do it by myself now. I blame it all on that woman. If it hadn't been for her, I wouldn't have been in this situation."

Riff was now well aware that it was the way of the rich and powerful to never blame anything on themselves. "Yes, sir," he said blandly.

The morning sunlight filtered in through the wide window next to the bed. _Enough to kill dozens of vampires_, Miryam thought to herself dryly. The young woman had been up since about eight in the morning, feeling far too uncomfortable to sleep any longer. When she had woken up, she had nearly gone into conniptions at the sight of an unfamiliar white ceiling above before remembering where she was. She remembered to pinch herself a few times before to make sure that she wasn't stuck in some kind of awful dream.

The room was relatively empty with white walls and white curtains. In neat corners, dark brown wooden cupboards were placed, dust completely inexistent. There were trim pictures of people on boats, laughing and a field of purple and yellow flowers that seemed horribly insincere. There was no personality whatsoever and it irritated Miryam for some odd reason that she didn't quite comprehend. At the very least, her room back there had had peeling brown-white paint. There had been a general feeling of having been _lived in_.

It seemed to her that mansions were built with more rooms than necessary, that the amount of rooms you had in your home accounted for your monetary, if not social, status. The more rooms you had, the more servants you needed. The more servants you had, the higher the status. It was a whole mad cycle. Miryam snorted to herself. She screwed up her face and made her voice go high, punctuating every sentence with an exclamation mark. _"Oh, you have _twelve_ rooms?! We only have ten, but then of course, that's only downstairs! _–laugh, laugh, giggle, giggle- _There are much more rooms _up_stairs!"_

"_Really?! I have the exact same amount of rooms in my summer _hut(hand on chest, look of surprise and emphasis on the word 'hut')_ Our home has_ –insert big number here- _rooms! _–sigh- _My husband complains no end about the amount of rooms in our little shack! He says there aren't enough! But you know men…! They always want the comfort of their own homes wherever they go!"_

Miryam gave a high pitched giggle that sounded more like a maniacal woman who had just successfully found a way to cook babies, then stopped, irritated with herself for being able to imitate them so well. She had always hated this kind of subtle boasting. All people seemed to care about these days were numbers and it was actually very sad. Nobody cared about butterflies and lakes, or pheasants or snakes. Miryam used to wonder, as she walked down the streets, how many people in London actually went to the country for relaxation and for the sake of the quiet environment instead of being evacuated there on the doctor's orders. After a while, though, she stopped caring. Obviously, no one did. She had managed to find out that much from her customers.

The thought of the streets brought back to mind the fact that, being out for so long, her clothes would be more than ordinarily covered in the dirt that came flying from the horse-drawn carriages. She looked down and noted that she had neglected to change her clothes last night. She looked at the bed and was disgusted and (spitefully) pleased that some of the dirt had rubbed off on the snow-white sheets. After the flurry of events yesterday, she had felt content to just collapse on the bed and float off to sleep. She took a look in the mirror above the small vanity and began to wish that she hadn't. Her dress was now creased and wrinkled in every place that seemed possible and her hair was dishevelled and looked as though a dead rat had lodged itself in her hair. Miryam made a mental note to at least undo her hair before going to sleep.

She took a clean, or at least relatively presentable, pair of clothes out of her suitcase. She wondered irritably to herself why she hadn't decided to unpack it before as she dug through the tightly knit clothes. Having found one of her most comfortable dresses, she kicked the suitcase spitefully and stepped out of the door. Her eyes widened in shock and her jaw dropped open. There were at least six other rooms just along the opposite hall. The corridors were long and wide, with sun-filled pictures and draping tapestries hanging in between every two rooms. She wouldn't have been surprised if she found a dead body on the way to the bathroom. No doubt there would be at least _one_ person who got hopelessly lost in this maze.

She realised that this was quite a morbid thought and slapped her cheek as hard as she allowed herself to when she suddenly thought: _What if that "one person" is me?_ She looked from one end of the hall to the other, her expression reminiscent of a fish that had just set eyes on its' maker, or at the very least, finding that it was not in fact going back into the bucket, but into a pot of boiling hot water. She jumped quite violently at a light tapping sound coming up the hall. She turned and caught sight of a young maid, her arms full of laundry, walking cautiously towards her, eyes fixed on the ground to make sure she did not fall.

The maid uttered a sharp squeak as she tripped over one of her bootlaces and stumbled forwards with her load. Miryam just managed to catch one of the bed sheets as it hurtled towards the ground. The maid with platinum blonde hair looked up with some surprise and her expression put to mind an unwelcome image of Marianna Susan. "Excuse me," Miryam said politely, tucking the sheet under her arm. "Could you tell me where the bathroom is?"

The maid grinned widely and nodded. "I'll show you," she offered cheerfully. Miryam half suspected that this was because there were too many directions to be given verbally. She followed the maid, quite subdued by the sight of so many rooms, and tried her best to remember all the twists and turns that the girl in front of her expertly made. Miryam thought that maybe she had been through the same route many times.

"I'd watch the master if I were you, miss," the maid chattered cheerfully as they went. "He's prone to mood swings, you see, and I've heard there have been occasions where he randomly throws things at you, just to see your reaction." Miryam's expression could have soured milk. The maid turned to see and laughed heartily, laughing at her apparent horror. "I'm sure it's just an exaggeration," she said gleefully. "I've only recently come here, so all I hear about Master Cain is from the servants. You should hear the kitchen maids at the gossip! I haven't actually seen him do anything to anyone, apart from the usual glare and sneer."

Somehow, Miryam wasn't surprised.

The maid stopped in front of a large door made out of fine dark wood. There were heavy carvings of flowers and the like along the edges. "Here we are!" the maid declared, quite unnecessarily. She smiled and curtsied as best she could with her hands full. "If you ever need help or the latest news from the kitchen" –she winked- "just ask for Mary Lamington. I'll likely be going along the hall same time as this morning."

Miryam smiled and nodded. Carefully, she laid the bed sheet back on top of the pile in Mary's arms. She waited until she was out of sight before taking a deep breath and entering the bathroom.

Cain scowled at the light breakfast on the table, his arms crossed. Riff suppressed a smile with some difficulty, as it probably would not have been appreciated that particular morning. He couldn't help but compare the sulking young man to the eleven year old child he had nursed before. "Isn't she up yet?" Cain snapped, with just the slightest hint of a whine. He wasn't, quite obviously, in the best of moods that morning due to lack of sleep. Riff had, as ordered, woken him at the appointed time. He had quietly shimmered into the room and, noticing Cain sleeping peacefully, had been quite tempted to just let him sleep. _But still, an order is an order,_ he thought ruefully.

Riff sighed. He was beginning to wish that he hadn't decided that an order was an order. He gently tipped the teapot up and poured some tea into the intricately designed, but terribly hard to hold, cup in front of his master. "No, sir," he replied. "Or at least, not that I know of."

Cain snorted, putting the cup to his lips, grumbling incoherently into it. "Where's Merry, then?"

"She's still asleep, sir."

Cain put the cup back onto the saucer with an irritable rattle. "It seems that I'm the only one who gets up at a decent hour here," he mumbled darkly. Riff could have begged to differ, but he knew that Cain was going to tell him that half past four in the morning was _not _a decent hour. Half past five was. That is, it was from Cain's point of view.

"It's not my place to say, sir," Riff said diplomatically, taking the newspaper off the tray of mail and handing it to his master. Cain took the newspaper with a curt "Thank you."

"'Man Trampled Over By Carriage, Assassination Attempt on Lord Dresden Foiled, Citizens of the United States of America and Canada Rejoice as the Great Blizzard of 1888 Ends'…" Cain read out loud as he flipped through the pages. Riff was slightly awed to find that he could hear the capitals as he sorted through the rest of the letters. Cain shook the papers as though he wished it were the editor's neck. "Isn't there anything interesting in this damned newspaper of ours?"

Riff ignored him. He had found that there was generally no point in trying to reason with a man when he was in this particular kind of mood. Looking at the bills that had been sent to the house seemed to only have made it worse. Cain had a great dislike for bills and had, on more than one occasion, claimed (very loudly) that they made his head hurt. The butler had decided it might be better for him to handle them instead after a few letters from various companies telling him that his rude letters were not at all appreciated. As far as Riff knew, it had worked rather well. He rolled his eyes towards the ceiling, something he dared to do now that his back was turned to the master. There was a triumphant "Ha!" from Cain that might have caused an unfortunate heart attack to a certain tall blonde young man had he not been almost used to it.

"Here we are!" Cain said brightly, his eyes lighting up. "There's been another murder in London. Funny how many there are these days." Riff didn't quite like the fact that Cain talked about it as though he were talking about the weather.

"Now let's see… Body was discovered in…at what time…" Cain's face, which had gradually been working itself into a scowl, suddenly cheered a little. "Here's what we want! 'Police say that the murderer of the second victim, whose name is yet to be released, may have been the same as that of Mr. Henry Grey. At the scene of the crime, investigators found a thick cardboard card with the words _The Star _printed across the bottom. Experts say that this card is one of the twenty-two cards of the Major Arcana tarot pack'," he read aloud. He snorted disgustedly. "They need experts to tell them that it is a tarot card? My _sister _could have easily told them that."

He shook the drooping papers straight and continued to read from where he had last left off. "'There is a slight difference between the two murders, which is why the police are still sceptical as to whether the murders were committed by the same man, claims Inspector Flair. While the manner of death is the same, the scene of the second victim, unlike that of Gray, left a tarot card at the scene of the crime.'" Cain looked up from the newspaper. "Miss Harper took the card that was there with Mr. Gray," he said knowingly, rather unnecessarily, since Riff already knew about it. He glared at the newspaper. "And besides, they shouldn't have put Flair on the case. Everyone knows he's an incompetent idiot." He stood up and stretched. "Get Miss Harper up," he ordered. "I need to talk to her."

"Yes, sir," Riff said. He would have begged to differ. Inspector Richard Flair was one of the best in Scotland Yard, or so he had heard, though the article had been written by a woman who seemed to describe his 'dashing good looks' more than his actual capabilities. Ever since the incident with Miss –something or other, research-, upon which Cain had been questioned about his involvement in her death, he had managed to find a space on his (much talked about) hit list for every single policeman he ever met. Cain had commented rather snappishly after the questioning that Miss –something or other-'s calling out his name just before her death was hardly basis for arrest.

"Stupid, nosy little buggers," Cain had called them on one occasion, grumbling on his way home after almost being arrested. "Why can't they keep their filthy noses out of other peoples' businesses? I can't help it if I have unusual hobbies. And besides, _they_ have unusual interests too. What do they call fishing?"

On that one occasion, he had nearly been arrested for carrying a bottle of Atropine in his pocket without a prescription ("Who on earth gets a prescription for _poison_?") and for carrying dangerous materials. When the man threatened to confiscate the bottle, the accusation not only became transportation of dangerous materials without a prescription or a license, but also assault of an Officer of the Law. Riff remembered with some dread the night the two supposed-to-be-mature men had a shouting match in the middle of the road until he had been called by Mr. Gabriel to take a look outside and stop them. Upon arriving at the scene, he had found that Oscar Gabriel had promised to pay the bail, should there ever be a need to. Cain had grudgingly thanked him, but had never forgiven him for hurting his pride. For the next few days after that, he was considerably more polite to the young man, but there would be times where he would suddenly look up from whatever he was doing and glare at the cheerful young man for no apparent reason.

Miryam stepped out of the bathroom, happy and fully refreshed, though in a slight daze. The bathroom had been the biggest she had ever seen in her life. There had, for one, been an actual bathtub and the room seemed to sparkle magically with gold and sunlight. Light fluffy towels hung neatly on long silver-like racks and the sink glittered, the mark of someone who made sure to give the bathroom at least an hour of his or her time. She was rather awed that the spout above the tub hadn't started choking halfway through and that the supply of hot water seemed to be almost endless. Had it not been for the fact that she was holding a deep grudge against her host, she would have thought she had died and gone to Heaven.

She walked down the corridor, humming to herself. For the first time in a long, long while, she didn't have to worry about where her next meal was going to come from. The thought was oddly comforting and she almost began to think that being here wasn't such a bad thing after all. She stopped short and looked around blankly. Her mind worked furiously, trying to identify the rooms she had passed on the way here. When that failed, she put her hands behind her back and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. She took two steps backwards and spun around in clumsy circles for a few moments. Her right arm shot out from behind her back and she pointed in a random direction. She opened her eyes, determined the direction they were pointing at and stead-fastedly made her way towards the opposite direction.

She was just one of the few people who didn't trust their own instincts.

An hour passed. Miryam had walked down so many damned staircases that she had lost count, and quite frankly, by this time, she wanted to have at them with something very sharp, preferably in the form of an axe. As far as she knew, all the rooms looked the same to her. She had long given up looking at the paintings along the walls. They gave her headache and her head was already spinning with frustration and worry. Now that she looked back on the event, it was a very stupid thing to do. Her legs were aching and she was sure it was a conspiracy when short, but sharp, spasms of pain came shooting up her leg. Her mouth curled into a snarl as she marched on, grumbling under her breath. She cursed the architect of the house and hoped that his house got eaten by mortar-digesting cows. While she was at it, she decided to curse the interior decorator as well with a thousand rotten blueberries in his nice shrubberies; _and _the one who had wanted so many rooms _in the first place_.

A slight shuffling sound from down the hallway made Miryam look up. An odd looking old man, his face very much dazed and blank, walked at a dreamy pace. He was short and he had barely any of his white hair left. His hands were behind his back and his startlingly bright blue eyes stared vacantly at the ceiling. He put to mind an image of the odd goblins that helped good little children who had gotten into some kind of trouble after helping another little child in those new short stories for children that were taking London by a storm. Miryam flinched slightly at the thought of all the warnings she had heard during her childhood. Don't crawl under the bed or the goblin who lives there will eat you; don't go near the water or the spirit will pull you in… She felt her stomach grip tightly at the bad memories. She walked up to him hesitantly. He stopped and turned slowly, though he didn't seem to notice her even when he did see her. "Um," Miryam said.

She jumped violently when his turtle-like face crinkled into a wide smile. "_Ja_?" he asked in a vague voice that was as light as clouds.

She put her hands behind her back and played with them nervously, a bad habit of hers when she was nervous. "Um, er… Could you tell me how to get back to my room, please?" She only too late that this wasn't the brightest thing to say. Why on earth would this old man know when this was the first time she had seen him and probably, him her? She probably should have given more detail. "It was in between pictures. Er…"

The man looked blankly at her, his face still scrunched up into his wide, impish smile. Miryam had the bad feeling that he hadn't understood a single thing she had just said. "_Es tut ich Leid, mein Liebster_," he said, smiling pleasantly. His voice was thick with a heavy glaze of a German accent. "_Ich spreche Englisch nicht."_

Miryam stared at him, eyes blank, mouth open and face perplexed. There was a long moment of silence as a thought wormed its way through Miryam's head. The only word that she had really understood was "_Englisch_". She also got the feeling that she had just been called a very bad name, though she wasn't very sure what "_Liebster_" meant. "Er, well, thank you anyway," she stuttered nervously and quickly. "_Auf __Wiedersehen_," she added in a conscious effort to say something that he would be able to understand.The old man smiled and nodded appreciatively at her, his eyes lighting up, almost excited. Miryam reflected deeply on this and decided that the servants of the household were much more sociable than the master of the house.

The old man made a motion like he was tipping a hat to her (confirming Miryam's suspicion that he was insane), whipped around flamboyantly and walked away. She waited until he was out of sight before following the same path he had taken. If he couldn't lead her to her room, he would, at the very least, be heading for the main door (where she had a chance to be found and led back) or to where all the servants were, whereupon she could induce Mary to help her.

Cain looked around the near-empty room where the young woman was staying in for the duration of time that she was here. When Riff had told him that morning that Miss Harper was _not _in her room, he had scoffed and set out for it himself, determined to prove that it was nonsense. Riff had accompanied him (also known as "showing him the way". See also "making sure he didn't get lost"), but wasn't able to stay due to an incident in the kitchen involving a kitchen maid, broken glass, a stool and an imaginary snake.

He walked around the room in circles for a while, making his head spin more than he could handle and had to sit down for a few moments. Gradually, he grew bored and began to open the cupboards at the side of the bed. There was a small part of him that was aware that this was rude, generally classified under the term of "prying" and that there would be dire consequences if anyone found out. He told himself that it _was _his house, and what were the chances of getting caught? Besides, who knew? Maybe it would turn out that Helena Harper _was _the murderer of the two men.

He was disappointed to see that the drawers were relatively empty. There were a few clothes in each cupboard and Cain thought wryly that the woman must have taken it into her head to distribute the garments evenly into each drawer. He slammed the first cabinet shut. There was nothing of interest in the drawer at all, not even a family picture or a dead rat. He grabbed hold of the knob on the last cupboard and tugged. It barely opened an inch and decided that it didn't want to open anymore. Cain scowled sourly and rattled the knob, slipping his fingers through the hole (that had, under pain of death, opened a little wider than before) and pushed down on the soft material that kept the cupboard from releasing.

He raised a long eyebrow at the contents. One of them in particular caught his eye, a dirty gold watch. It was laid carefully across the top of the dresses. He took it out by the chain, dangling it in front of his face. It was not the sort of watch a man would wear, so he discounted it as being a possession of either of the dead men, assuming that their respective partners hadn't given it to them. On the heavy lid, there were lightly scratched flower designs. The quality of the metal was fairly decent, but the work of the engraver was exquisite. Each flower, bud and leaf was carefully etched and embossed into the metal. Cain almost felt as though they were alive and growing.

He lowered it into his hand and expertly flicked it open. He wasn't surprised to see that it wasn't ticking. It had probably stopped a long time ago, most likely due to improper care. Cold and damp could greatly damage a watch. As it was, the cheap gold paint was already beginning to fade away, leaving a dull, copper-brownish colour in its place. The watch pointed to 3:49. Cain grimaced at the sight of the various scratches on the surface of the glass protecting the time. Running from one corner to the other was a long sharp crack, as though someone had decided to use it as the weapon of choice. On the back of the lid, there were the words _Miryam Bashevis_, cautiously etched in black. Cain noted the handwriting and noticed that it was neat and quite small, though there was something about it that gave him the impression that the person who had carved it in had spent countless hours at a table just practicing writing those two words.

The dark haired young man shut the watch with a sharp snap. He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath, and then opened them again. He wondered vaguely to himself how a young woman from a brothel, who could barely pay for her food and lodging as it was, could possibly own such a specimen of a watch. He made a mental note within his head to remind himself to ask her about it the next time he came across her. _If_ he came across her. It was quite a common incident to have maids getting lost in his house. They always resigned not long afterwards, much to Riff's chagrin and despair.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIEEEEEEEE-"

"I'm sure there's no snake in--"

"—EEEEEEEEEEEEEE--"

"Come now, Miss Lamington. There's no-"

"—EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE--"

"There's no snake in the kitch--"

"—EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE--"

"There's _no_ snake-"

"—EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE--"

"There's no _snake_ in--"

"—IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE--" Riff had the feeling that emphasising that word hadn't the best thing to do.

"_Miss Lamington,_" he said in as commanding a voice as he could manage in that situation. It wasn't particularly easy. The maid, saucepan in hand and standing on a stool was quite a sight. There was broken glass all over the floor, most likely from a jug she had dropped upon seeing the alleged serpent. He had tried to urge her down from her post but she had, with fear making her bolder than usual, refused outright and quite hysterically.

"_Miss Lamington_," he repeated in the same tone of voice. Mary Lamington stopped screaming just enough to look at him with wide eyes. He smiled warmly at her and extended a hand. "I think you can come down now, Mary. I'm fairly sure that there isn't--"

"How do you know?" Mary asked loudly, waving her saucepan. "I'm not coming down from this bloody chair until that horrible thing is gone so if you're just trying to convince me to get back to work, I'm going to have to tell you that it won't work so bugger off!" Her eyes were teary and red and her voice was trembling. Even through his irritation, Riff found himself feeling sorry for the girl. After all, she was still young and he remembered that he himself had been afraid of large dogs.

"Tell you what, I'll check and make sure that there isn't a snake in here," Riff offered kindly. "Then will you come down?"

Mary eyed him suspiciously, and then nodded grudgingly though she didn't lower her saucepan. Upon her assent, Riff conducted a thorough search of the entire kitchen, looking in the cupboards and the various ovens. He did, however, make the mistake of announcing that there was no such animal in the room while he was by the stove. Mary, in her relief, quickly stepped down from the chair and trod on Riff's hand by mistake.

"Oh gods!" Mary squealed, her hands flying to her mouth. She put a hand on Riff's shoulder and helped him up gingerly. "Oh gods!" she repeated. "Are you alright, sir? Should I get the bandages? Or the first aid kit? I'm so sorry, sir!"

Riff managed to pull himself upright and to his full height. He flashed her a short smile though his expression was reminiscent of a man who had just had a very big dog step on his foot for a more-than-necessary time and was trying to retain his dignity by pretending not to notice. He winced slightly as he fingered his sore hand and worried if its black-blue colour might not be presentable to any guests that came to the house. "I'm perfectly alright," he told Mary in a slightly strained voice. She watched him carefully as he made his way to out the door, then went back to her dishes.

Riff marched stately through the long halls and up the numerous flights of stairs. He touched his hand gently. It was still throbbing faintly and it looked a little swollen. He had been lucky that heels were prohibited in the kitchen. He sighed. Sometimes he wondered if this job was really worth it.

He looked up at the sound of uneven footsteps. Occasionally, they would be short and light, then long and dragging. He hurried forwards and there, he found Miryam, looking as though she had just walked the entire area of London. "Miss Harper," Riff said to her in surprise. Miryam looked up at him blankly. In her fatigue (which was caused by how much she was out of shape), she had forgotten that she used an alias. There was, however, a little voice at the back of her head that was shrieking irritatingly in her ear and telling her to be careful.

"Yes?" she asked, sighing with relief at the sight of a familiar face. Her thoughts had a decidedly over-dramatic edge as she though about how long she had wandered the halls. How would she have survived without food or water? She would have been _doomed_ to wander the house until she dropped down dead. How long had it been since she had last seen civilization? She stopped and gave this some thought. So it had only been three hours, but still…

"Where have you been, Miss Harper?" the butler asked, genuinely concerned. "Master Cain has been looking all over for you."

Looking for her indeed! She was willing to bet that he had barely moved an inch from where he had started. "Master Cain can go stick it up his trackens," she muttered darkly, though she had no idea what that word meant in the least. She assumed it was Scottish. Riff's face went a funny colour at this. It was a little like a mix of a blush and a paling of the face caught somewhere in between which, unfortunately, made him look like a blotchy piece of paper.

"I got lost," Miryam admitted sheepishly. "And there weren't any servants or people I could ask along the way, other than this German man. He wasn't much help, though. He couldn't speak any English."

Riff raised and eyebrow and thought about this. "I don't recall our hiring people who couldn't speak English…" he muttered to himself. His mind connected with an image of one of the servants of German descent. "Wait, was he balding? With a head of white hair and wrinkled as a walnut?" Miryam cocked her head slightly to one side and looked puzzled. Riff continued. "He's very old, quite short and vague as a ghost. When he talks to you, he never seems to have heard until he says something that's halfway relevant."

Miryam slapped her hands together when it finally hit her. "Yes! That's the one!" she exclaimed, looking a little more enthusiastic than before.

"That's Dietrich Yeager," Riff explained, looking astonished and bewildered. "But he _can _speak English! There isn't a single person in the house that can't speak the language. Master Cain wouldn't have it. He likes to know what everyone is saying. I've talked to him about it, but he refuses to learn the languages himself and the moment the people around him speak in a different language, he immediately assumes that they're conspiring against him," he added fondly. Miryam snorted at this. She didn't find this hard to believe at all.

Riff laughed. "I wouldn't worry about Mr. Yeager if I were you," Riff advised wisely. "He likes doing that to some of the guests and the new staff. He once went up to Mr. Gabriel and asked him if he wanted any tea in German and the poor man thought he was being swore at." He laughed lightly. "But he's a good man; straight as an arrow and one of our best workers. He just likes amusement and he'll stop soon enough when the joke's worn old on you."

Miryam grinned at him and Riff, who had been beginning to think that he had maybe said too much, suddenly felt a lot more comfortable with the woman. Remembering his duty, he turned her around and pushed her lightly in the direction he was facing. "Now, we should be going," he said, smiling.

Cain looked up as his servant escorted the dark-haired woman into the room. He got up from his post at the window and stretched lazily, like a cat on a summer's evening who was just about to stop rummaging through the bins and go inside to get some _real_ food. "About time you got back," Cain commented. Riff squirmed a little. The remark had seemed to be directed more at him rather than at Miss Harper. It was generally a bad sign when he said things like that without a hint of temper, Riff thought. It either meant that he was livid, or that he had found something out about someone and wasn't about to tell them what it was. Neener, neener, neener.

Miryam's eyes were riveted on the round item in her host's hand. Her spine stiffened and her face flushed as she realised that it was her watch he held. "What are you doing with _my _watch?" she asked with all the calm of a poor individual being chased by cannibals. She began to walk up to him, preparing to snatch it away, but he in turn made his way to her, turned her palm upright and placed it neatly in her hand.

"You have been mistreating it, dear lady," Cain said, his tone airy and patronising. "An awful thing on your part, I must say. The watch was a fine piece of workmanship and you just ruined a perfectly good timepiece. It must have stopped ticking years ago."

Miryam opened and closed her mouth, reminiscent of a goldfish. "What on earth possessed you to start prying and rummaging through _my_ things?" she sputtered, furious. "Haven't you ever heard of a thing called privacy? Or did you just _assume_ that I wouldn't mind? From what I've seen, you're very good at that! As if it weren't bad enough that y--"

Cain massaged his forehead and frowned as though plagued by a sudden headache. "Oh, do shut up," he sighed noncommittally. He held up a hand in front of her face. "I'll answer the first question, but not the second _nor _the third. What possessed me to start looking through your things could have been your presence, or lack thereof. One can't blame me for becoming bored." Miryam started to open her mouth to snap at him, but he glared at her, indicating that she might speak only when he was finished. Miryam crossed her arms over her chest and sulked. But that time, she would have probably forgotten what she had wanted to say.

"Now, I'm the one who asks the questions here," Cain continued. Riff could tell he was enjoying himself. Miryam would have liked to stick out her tongue and ask him, 'Says who?' but refrained from doing so. The dark-haired young man indicated the small object in the girl's hand. She looked down at it, wondering, feeling the cold chain brush against her skin as it dangled from her palm. "First off, what is that inscribed on the lid? Who did it?"

"What _is _inscribed on the lid?" Miryam shot back, feigning curiosity. "I don't know what you mean."

Cain sighed harshly and scowled. "You know perfectly well what I mean," he snapped. "The words scratched on the back of the watch lid." He pointed at her accusingly. It was, admittedly, a gamble. If she continued to deny it, then Cain would very well have to take what she had said as the very truth. The worst thing was, he realised, was that even if she _were _lying, he wouldn't have had any way to tell. He glanced up at her and she pondered at this, unconsciously biting the finger in front of her mouth. Cain felt a little relieved at this spectacle. Fortunately for him, it seemed like she wasn't the sharpest fork in the drawer and that the thought had never occurred to her. "The game is up," he added, for dramatic effect. He raised an eyebrow and he held her in a cold stare. "I take it, then, since it is not yours, that you took it off some unsuspecting customer of yours?" he said dryly, trying to draw her out, but not realising the effect he was having on her. "You don't deny it? Well, I thought as much."

Miryam twitched at his accusation and a flaring hot rage bubbled and boiled inside her. "There would be no way that something like this could actually belong to you anyway," Cain continued nonchalantly. "It's much too delicate for you to understand and at any rate; there would have been no way that you could have afforded something like this--"

Riff winced at the sound of a loud _THWACK! _as Miryam's fist connected with Cain's face. He did not, however, feel very sorry for his master. There had been quite a few occasions where Riff would have liked to hit him himself, though it was the women who did the slapping, or punching as seemed in this case. Miryam's eyes went wide when she realised what she had done. Her arm had just shot out without her thinking. She stopped short and looked down at her still-clenched fist in awe and admiration.

She looked back up at the man cradling his cheek and remembered her anger. "How dare you!" she screeched. An entire flurry of words followed those first words as she yelled at him in the utmost fury. "Gods! This is why I hate aristocrats! You think you're the only ones allowed to carry watches around? Degenerates!" –she pointed sharply at the word- "The watch was _not _stolen; it belonged to _my mother_! She passed it on to _me_ because I was her namesake! It's a family _heirloom_! If you _dare_ accuse me of stealing again, I _swear_ I will gut you! _With a spoon!_" She realised that this was actually an impossible feat, but the point was that had tried. Besides, that wouldn't have stopped it from inflicting serious pain.

She stopped and glared at him, breathing heavily. Cain's cheek was still stinging from the force of her blow and he stared at her as though she was just about as interesting as the wall. "Indeed," he said, his voice laced with light triumph. "So I am to assume, Miss Harper, that you are actually Miss" – he flicked the watch open and looked at the name inside so that he would be reminded of it- "Miryam Bashevis. Is that right?"

Miryam was just about to ask him how he knew when she remembered that, in her mad ramblings, she had revealed it herself. Her face went a deep red at the memory of her stupidity. She glared poisonously at him, her paranoia telling her that he had likely planned it all from the beginning. "Yes," she answered grudgingly.

Cain smirked and there was definitely a kind of shining pleasure in it. "And why did you hide your name, pray tell?"

The answer was obvious. Miryam stared at him as though he were dumb and she wondered how often he got out of the house. She mumbled something about Jewish people and how they were treated and there were some cuss words as she rambled on about Shakespeare and Shylock and all the distrust. "Besides, we were never liked, you know," Miryam stated, more clearly than before, though she was embarrassed to say the reason why.

Cain snorted and crossed his arms. "I am shocked at you, Miss Bashevis," he said, putting a hand to his chest. "We are not bigots here. We don't turn people out of the house simply because they are Jewish. And if there were any people under my employment who turned out to be as such, I would have them sacked," he added smugly.

This little speech was lost on Miryam. For one thing, she didn't even know what a bigot was, but she told herself that it probably didn't matter very much. "So what was it that you wanted to talk to me about?" she asked, changing the subject now that the room was uncomfortably quiet.

"Ah, yes," Cain said, remembering his original intentions. "That."

Riff closed his eyes for a short moment, then opened them again. The way his master treated the problem, one might have thought he was referring to yet another pigeon dying on him. But then again, Riff though, that probably wouldn't have worried him at all considering he was the one who had poisoned the pigeons in the first place. On the other hand, he _would_ worry if the pigeon _didn't _drop dead.

Cain walked to the door, hooking his arm in Riff's as he headed towards the door, turning the butler towards the right direction and tugging at him as he left the room. "Come along," he said to Miryam, beckoning for her to follow. Cain's arm dropped from Riff's to his side the moment they stepped out the door. Miryam began to wonder at this, but then pushed it aside as being irrelevant. She walked a few paces behind them and wondered instead about what it was that Cain wanted to talk to him about. The tall blonde man led them expertly down numerous flights of stairs and hallways and eventually through a pair of French doors and out into a large garden.

The fresh scent of flowers, all in full bloom, hung in the air and there was pollen flying visibly in the air. Miryam thought that maybe the whole point of the garden was to hide the scent of some decomposing body in the bushes. It wouldn't have surprised her in the least. The master of the house probably goes out in the middle of the night to dig up graves and eat the bodies, Miryam thought sourly to herself. Riff led them towards a large table, complete with chairs and umbrella that was set underneath a large chestnut tree. The table was light and looked _very _expensive, even though it seemed to have been made out of cheap glass. Miryam was almost afraid to rest her arms on the surface of it for fear of cracking the glass. She looked up into the leaves and squinted as the sharp sunlight poked her in the eyeballs. There was, quite frankly, no need for the sun shade that was the umbrella due to the broad leaves. They provided more than enough shade. The parasol was just there to make things look more refined.

Without thinking, Miryam pulled out one of the chairs roughly and sat down in it, looking this way and that in wonder. Cain himself took a seat right across from her. He offered a seat to his servant, but Riff politely declined and informed him that he preferred to stand. Instead, he placed himself at his master's side. Cain took the morning newspaper from Riff's hands and slid it across the table so that it was facing the woman. Miryam looked at the words blankly, then back up at him with the expression of a sheep who isn't sure why there isn't any food in the trough. "Read it," Cain ordered, gesturing flamboyantly at the paper.

Miryam obeyed and allowed her eyes to wander along the words. Her eyes darted from one side of the page to anothe rin a way that was too fast to be possibly human. It was like watching a child trying, but not really trying, to make out the business section of the newspaper. She looked up again after a while, her face red. She played with her hands and realised that they had broken out into a cold sweat. "So?" she bleated, trying to sound casual in case she could weasel her way out of her current predicament.

"What do you mean '_so'_?" Cain asked, scowling because he had expected a very much different effect. "You've read the article and all you can say is 'so'?"

"No," she squeaked, her voice getting higher by the minute along with her nervousness. "I mean- I mean, yes." Cain raised an eyebrow at her and put his hands together in front of his face. Miryam squirmed. "I can't read, alright?" she concluded wretchedly, looking down at her clammy hands.

There was a long moment of silence. She glanced up uncertainly. He seemed to take this all rather well, and she appreciated that he didn't make too much out of it, though admitted, it could have been the plain shock of a person being unable to read in this day and age. "Can't you?" he commented lightly, seemingly uncaring. "Very well, then," he added with a sigh. "I'll tell you what it says. It states here"- he put a long finger to the headline- "that another man was killed last night. There was another card at the scene of the crime, The Star. You've likely seen it before."

Miryam shook her head in confusion and Cain gave her a look that was quite despairing. She glared back. She had never played around with tarot cards before. She had only recently come across them when a girl back at Clay House (the place where she had worked before) came back with the. Other than the Tower card she had picked up, she had never had a very good look at the cards. "You don't have to look at me like that," she snapped self-consciously, crossing her arms.

"It doesn't matter," Cain continued, waving her last comment away. "If you want to see it, Merry will likely have some to show you." He allowed his eyes to wander around the garden until he spotted the girl. "If she's willing, of course," he added as an afterthought. He looked fixedly at Miryam and she couldn't help but squirm in her chair. "Are you truly sure you didn't see anyone come out of that alley? Did you see the colour of his hair, at least? Was it long and a silvery blonde colour?"

Miryam let out a harsh breath of air. Now that her humiliation was over, she dared to do so. "We've been through this," she said irritably. "No, I didn't see anyone come out of the alley and yes, I'm sure I didn't."

Cain narrowed his eyes cynically at her, peeved that his the next question he wanted to ask had been so easily predictable. "Well, there's no need to snap," he snapped back. "Honestly. And people say that women are worse after marriage? I'd hate to see what you'd do to the poor unfortunate soul who would become your life partner. If they would take you, of course."

Miryam looked scandalized at this last remark. She was just about to say what she thought about _him_ when she was distracted by the ringing of the doorbell in the distance. Cain nodded at Riff. "Could you get that, please, Riff?" he asked politely. Miryam wondered darkly why the servant was treated with more respect than she was and eventually decided that this was because Cain was a self-centred, egotistical, sexist ass. Riff bowed to his master and went back into the house.

Cain turned back to Miryam as soon as Riff was gone and drummed his fingers against the side of his chair in a way that didn't make her feel at all comfortable. Miryam didn't dare say anything, mostly because the young man seemed to be deeply immersed in thought. Lords knew what might happen if she pulled him out of his current state. "You will have to learn how to read," Cain said decidedly after a while. "And write. I won't have you illiterate. Goodness knows what kind of effect you would have had on Merry. And besides, I never did like reading to my sister. I don't want to have to do the same to you."

Miryam's face went hot with embarrassment. "What makes you think I'll need you to read to me?" she demanded. "I don't intend to pick up the newspapers, carry it to you and ask you what so-and-so word is. And I _don't_ intend to go to that little brat sister of yours either." Since last night, Merryweather and Miryam had come to a silent compromise. Neither of them liked the other very much and they had a quiet pact that they wouldn't have anymore to do with the other.

Cain shrugged. "I'm sure you don't," he said carelessly, not really listening. "But I, on the other hand, require you to keep up with the news. I don't take very well to reading aloud and I won't have you bothering Riff. He's busy enough as it is. So the only option you have is to learn yourself. Well, I suppose I can get Merry's tutor to teach you while she's with her," he added as an afterthought. "Yes, I think that is a fine solution. You start next week."

Miryam opened her mouth in protest, but then shut it again, seeing the look on Cain's face, and glared. "I can hardly wait," she said sarcastically, pinning a ferocious smile/snarl on her face.


End file.
